Always in motion you are nowhere near your bed and sleep is sliding up your spine one vertebrate at a time. It’s in your head now making loose bits of gibberish of your thoughts and stomping your eyelids shut. Soon you’re making a pillow of the dirty, cold and unfriendly window beside you— better than the dirty, sweaty and too friendly stranger on your other side. You slumber, but not comfortably; if only you owned Ratchel Ritchie’s “Never Stop a Rolling Stone” jacket.